


He Said It Hurts Too Much (I Said It'll Never Hurt Enough)

by Elise_Davidson



Series: 40 Snapshots [20]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: 08. Fear, 40 Snapshots, ALL FIXED UP NOW SORRY -_-, Episode Tag: Kir'Shara, It's taking more time than Phlox thought for Soval to recover his emotional control, M/M, Shran feels a little bad about that, Shran gets rejected at the end, Soval having NO emotional barrier, Soval lets some things out, Soval's emotional barrier is broken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elise_Davidson/pseuds/Elise_Davidson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soval is still having trouble keeping his emotions in check, though Phlox can't prove it.</p><p>Shran feels responsible for Soval's inability to be the Vulcan equivalent to "normal" and pays him a visit to inquire about it.</p><p>Said visit does not go as planned.</p><p>ETA: 9/9/2016 All pretty and edited and shiny new with no sentences that mysteriously end XD  Sorry about that folks...I usually do a better job editing my stuff than that.  It is literally 10x better now, enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Said It Hurts Too Much (I Said It'll Never Hurt Enough)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired through comments threads with justsimplymeagain and misscupcakefiend. Not quite what I'd discussed, but this is what happened XD
> 
> Completely un'beta'd. Knowing me, I'll either remove the fic all together depending on the writing quality or edit the hell out of it in the next day or so.
> 
> Episode Tag: s4ep9: Kir'Shara
> 
> Title is from Streetlight Manifesto's "Receiving End of it All".
> 
> ETA: 9/9/2016 to fix all the mistakes and broken sentences and muddled context. I am so sorry, folks...I normally edit a bit better than this...ugh.
> 
> Thanks to LSR as usual for input and some help with said fix-its.

  1. Fear



 

The thought was insistent, unrepentant, and completely unwelcome.

The fact still remained, however, that Shran found himself distracted on his own bridge— _his own damn bridge_ —thinking about whether or not Soval had recovered properly from the Andorian process of breaking down the Vulcan’s emotional barrier.  It was distracting enough that his first officer, Rashat, had privately inquired if Shran was, to borrow an Earth colloquialism he had picked up recently, “okay”.

Shran poured himself another bit of the brown liquor Archer had gifted him recently, ostensibly as some human show of gratitude or other that Shran didn’t care to know much more about.  He was too concentrated on how Andorian technology (and, a smaller voice nagged, Vulcan) would be better suited than Enterprise’s outdated medical technology, Denobulan doctor or no, to treat Soval’s weakened neurological condition.

With a grimace, Shran set the glass back down.  He had drank it down much like his own planet’s ale, but the burn was definitely far more unpleasant.  Andorian ale tended to leave an almost…comfortingly icy sensation along the throat, the tongue tingling in remembrance.  He traced his fingers over the sides of the warm glass, wondering if ice might make it better.

What was it called?  The foreign word came to mind quickly— _scotch_ —and Shran wasn’t sure he liked it.  Depending on the person, one could get addicted too quickly to the burn against their throat, the insidious, delayed intoxication it offered.

At least Andorian ale let one know immediately that actions had consequences.

And that brought Shran right back to his initial distraction—if Soval was recovering properly or not, and the thought made him bristle with anger.  He shouldn’t _care_ about a deceptive, lying, _duplicitous_ (to coin the Vulcans in their description of his own people) _Vulcan_.

Still, as empty as the glass was, Shran couldn’t deny that he _was_ concerned slightly over whether he had permanently hurt the ambassador or not.  He poured himself some familiar pale blue ale, even as the _scotch_ continued to work its effects, ignoring the adamant niggle at the right side of his head, and even more firmly didn’t listen to the memory of Soval’s screaming.

Andorians were expert deniers; he supposed it was a result of their paranoia and xenophobia.

But even Shran had trouble denying and ignoring the remnants of Soval’s unhinged, manic laughter, as he insisted Shran turn the setting up.

Some part of Shran was sadistically satisfied at seeing a Vulcan like Soval lose their prized control.  Really, he had never understood their need for logic, for complete control of emotions, for denying those emotions at all.  The way he saw it, it was better to indulge paranoia and be prepared than to deny emotion and simply practice caution in lieu of said preparation.

The thought made him pause, because with Soval’s unbridled words howling through his memory, Shran suddenly realized that maybe…

Well, never mind.  They were too different for him to think that maybe they weren’t.

_Stupid damn greenskins._

XXXXX

Soval walked with Phlox back to the quarters Archer had given him.  The doctor kept making polite conversation; Soval gave back the same answers he might have before the barriers against his emotions weren’t quite so broken.  He hoped ( _emotion, no, emotion, stop_ ) that his responses came off the way they had in the past—slightly condescending with a sense of…

Well, he couldn’t even think of the word for that.  The waves of emotions wouldn’t allow him to think of it, and he only wished to return to his quarters to begin the necessary meditation rituals to suppress the feelings overwhelming him at the moment.

Phlox had assured him that neurologically, his emotional suppressor was beginning to function again, that there was no medical reason to keep him in sick bay any longer, and Soval hadn’t argued.

Soval now sat in his quarters on the floor, staring at a candle flame, struggling to make it grow or lessen, or, at the very least, trying to focus on where the flame began and the wick ended.  The magnesium-bright edge of black faded into the red-blue birth of fire as he started to fade into the mental space he needed, that he _knew_.  His shoulders relaxed, eyes staring intensely at the blend of color.  The flame’s intensity didn’t change, but at this point, he could settle for the drips of melting wax fading into the dish beneath it calming him down.

Distantly, he thought he heard the door chime but was too wrapped up in the comfort of meditating and finally beginning to feel _some_ semblance of normality.

“I apologize; I didn’t realize you were meditating.”

The voice shattered his tranquil state, brought him so abruptly from himself that Soval glared angrily at the intruder, ready to attack and scratch.

But it was Shran, and they were on Enterprise.  The little bit of emotional control he had been able to get back warned him that indulging in the violent tendencies of his ancestors would only result in further distrust between the three parties aboard _Enterprise_.

“Is there some way I can help you, Commander?” Soval asked as politely as he could manage, but he could hear his own voice—it was tightly wound, barely controlled.  It made him feel disgusted with himself, that he was still struggling to regain his logic and emotional center.

Shran stood at his door, looking, as usual, deeply irritated.  Beneath it, there seemed to be an undercurrent of concern, not unlike he had looked when he warned Soval about the higher settings when they had been on the _Kumari_ , and _no_ , Soval couldn’t think of _any_ of that now.  It was far too intense when he still felt raw and agitated, still felt like it would never hurt enough.

But the concern deepened unexpectedly on Shran’s face as the irritation softened, his blue antennae drooping a bit as if he were uncertain.  “I wanted to be certain their doctor was able to treat you properly,” he said lamely.

Soval tilted his head up to Shran, not rising from his meditative pose.  “Their doctor has released me.  I can only assume until I see a Vulcan physician that it means I am well.”

Shran looked briefly as if he were looking for an escape, but finally settled his gaze back to Soval.  “Then come aboard my ship; let my doctor have a look at you.”

Soval scoffed.  “I believe I have had enough time aboard your ship.”

Shran clenched his fists and sat on the edge of the bed in Soval’s quarters.  “I’ll order him here then; the pinkskins' doctor can even do the exam himself.”

Soval could feel the anger and misery clutching at him, wringing through his stomach and chest like bloodworms that wanted to crawl out of him through his skin.  His joints and tendons tightened visibly, the already fragile control of his emotions beginning to chip away.

“Again, Commander,” Soval remarked, hoping it was airy but knowing it was angry, “I have spent more than enough time in the company of Andorians.  I do not care to extend my experience by allowing myself to be subjected to further scans by _your_ doctor so your kind can improve their knowledge of the torture of Vulcans.”

Shran looked up fervently and angrily.  “That is _not_ what I was offering.”  His blue hands were fisted at his knees; he didn’t rise from the bed.

Soval finally stood, approaching where Shran sat on the Spartan style bed.  “What _are_ you offering then, Commander?”

Shran stared up at him, dark blue eyes glittering in the artificial lighting of Soval’s quarters.  He stared stubbornly at Soval for a long moment.  The tension built, ratcheting up bit by bit until even Soval was feeling his skin tingle in fiery sensation once more.  The anxiety and fear Shran seemed to be showing for Soval’s well-being made his stomach churn, made him want to put his hands on Shran and show him just how capable Vulcans were of emotion, of lust, of passion, of _anger_ …

Soval stepped back, eyes shut and trying to find his center once more within the wick burning into the flame.  “Do not do this, Commander.”  He turned to the window of his room, eyes still shut, and placed his hands on the sill of his porthole in an effort to at least distract himself with the cool feel of alien metal beneath his skin.  "I am, in no small part to your efforts, having difficulty with controlling my emotions at the moment."

The chill of Shran’s hand falling on his shoulder nearly undid him.  Soval shuddered under the onslaught of everything he felt at that one touch—the cold through his robes, the clamping fingers on his shoulder, the closeness of a body behind him, the stars flying past his eyes at a rate he couldn’t calculate because he was _too fucking aware of the man behind him_ —it was all _too much_.

“I didn’t want to… _injure_ you, Ambassador,” Shran said quietly in a low tone that nearly made him tremble, and, gods help him, he wanted to feel it again.

Soval snapped.

XXXXX

While the usual Andorian attitude was that any race other than their own (and even _that_ had exceptions) were inferior (especially in the matter of physical violence and fighting prowess), Shran wasn’t entirely sure Soval was ever dangerous until now.  He had only meant to approach the Vulcan, let him know that he was… _fuck_ , he was _sorry_ for what he’d done to him.

Now though, Soval’s hand was crushed around Shran’s fingers.  The hold was definitively something Shran was unprepared for.  He wanted to step back, but didn’t, because even Terrans knew Andorians and Vulcans were evenly matched in a fight.  He wasn’t about to let Soval think there was only one outcome to a physical fight between them.

Shran stiffened behind him.  “Do you really want to do this, Ambassador?”

Soval chuckled darkly.  “You can’t say my name, _Shran_?”

Shran snorted.  “Everyone calls me that.  You know better.”  His fingers tightened, digging into the robes of Soval’s garments.

XXXXX

Soval hoped the sadism of his smile showed when he turned and pinned Shran with a condescening, knowing gaze.  “Fine, _Thy’lek_.”

Shran didn’t seem overly bothered though; he only leaned closer, a hand pulling Soval’s robes into a fistful of fabric and one antenna pulling over Soval’s hair, the other hand closing over the ambiguous shape of his hip.

The Andorian was nothing, if not unpredictable though, and his frame abruptly drooped against Soval’s frame—not because the situation was uncomfortable, so far as Soval could tell, but because something was truly bothering the Andorian.  It almost felt like defeat with a heavy side of reluctance.

Shran backed off as Soval remained where he stood.  Emotions ran against the surface, chafing each other like skin on skin, like words kicking at teeth, like the tight coil of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.  His breathing came out shallowly as Soval stared at Shran.

Defiantly, Shran stared back just as evenly though.  “You’re not in your right mind, green-skin.”  The language was Andorian, but Soval understood; it was his _job_ to understand.

Soval snorted, not caring that it wasn’t like him to do so.  “Does it matter?” he asked in challenge, and pushed Shran to a sitting position on the edge of his bed again before gracefully dropping between Shran’s knees.  “Didn’t you always want me here?”

Shran stiffened, palms jabbing hard enough into the thin mattress that Soval could feel the movement.  “ _Not_ like this, Ambassador.”

Soval tilted his head up, almost drunk now on the new emotions fluttering through his system, even as Shran’s hands tried to push him away.  “Then _how, Thy’lek_ ,” he asked, his Vulcan accent slurring over the cool fingers on his face, mouthing the digits and sucking them.  “ _You_ wanted this.”

Shran looked regretful and irritable as he carded his fingers through Soval’s hair, mussing the strands and messing them from their perfect style.  “I did, imagine this...”  He leaned forward, curling his spine as he kissed the tip of one of Soval’s ears.  “But not like _this_ , _Soval_..."

The Andorian inflection only heightened Soval's arousal; he buried his face into the hollow of Shran's hip, turning his nose against the slight bulge in Shran's pants.  He heard a tight gasp above him, his blood roaring with pride through his ears that he had brought that sort of noise from an Andorian, and _Imperial Commander_ no less.  But then he was being pushed away, words tumbled needlessly from his mouth, things he hate himself for when he remembered.

Shran looked just a touch before wrecked, breathing hard and his cheeks a darker shade of blue.  He pulled Soval to his feet before stopping the waterfall of verbiage that kept coming out of him, kissing him hard and running a tongue over the seam of Soval's lips to stop the words.

Soval felt only confusion and rejection flood through his system as Shran stood, letting go of him.  He suddenly rose to his feet and fingered the side of Shran’s face, trying to at least transmit the _rejection_ and _need_ he felt.

Shran visibly trembled, hips thrusting forward and antennae twitching.  “ _Fuck_ , don’t, I can _n_ _ot_ do _that_ —“

Soval felt lust, violence, reluctance, _everything_ all through his fingers on Shran’s face.  His features were open and full of wonder, even as Shran shoved him away.  He tried not to, but it still came through as _pride_ that Shran looked _afraid_.

But then Shran stepped forward, kissing him again almost violently, before leaving his room without another word.

Soval went to bed, hand lazily jerking at his erection.  He didn’t get off until he had shoved two fingers into his rear entrance, imagining it was Shran doing it instead of him.  In his heightened state, he wasn't sure he really cared.

The candle snuffed out long before he was able to find sleep.

XXXXX

Soval spent the next day contemplating the difference between want and need in the mess hall.  He wasn’t entirely surprised when Shran offered a bowl of plomeek broth while enjoying the same Vulcan staple.  But then Shran’s booted ankle quite openly and obviously (to a Vulcan) made his intent clear by slipping against the side of Soval's robes and down the side of his leg.

Soval finished his broth, thanked Shran, and left the mess hall.

It simply wouldn’t do for a Vulcan to _want_ an Andorian.  It wouldn’t work, not in the long run.

Soval missed it entirely when the confused hurt and rejection washed over Shran’s face.  Some small voice in his head, a voice that was promptly ignored, insisted that because of their recent mind-meld, he could still _feel_ it.

And that simply wouldn't do either.

XXXXX

**Author's Note:**

> *big sigh of relief* I feel a lot better; I was stuck at work for 9 hours after re-reading through it and wasn't able to edit it until I got home, and yeah...needless to say, it's been bugging the everloving fuck out of me all afternoon.


End file.
